Never Really Gone
by Vee-sempai
Summary: *SPOILERS for OoP* No one returns from death... but the powers that be have always been mysterious.
1. Chapter One

***  
Note- Okay, my formatting takes out apostrophes. I don't have time to fix it. Sorry, but I guess you'll just have to deal with it until I can go back and fix it. Anyway, about the fic... apparently, when I pour out my pain and grief, it becomes surreal. Sorry. There will be undercurrents of seriousness, and I promise what is transpiring will become a bit more clear. This is dedicated to all the Sirius fans... Something cheery to soothe the pain.  
***  
  
It was hard to take, for the second time.  
Losing him once had been hard. Harder than he had ever believed a loss could be. Being isolated like that, staring at the ceiling day after day, the dank air surrounding him and chilling him, forcing him to remember that he was alone...  
Hed be so sure hed never have to feel that again.  
Losing James and Lily... it had been a shot to his heart, an icy cold lump that fell to the pits of his stomach and refused to be dislodged. Even in the days after, those terrible days, it had been hard to believe that they were really gone. He would never see them smile again, never hear them laugh again, never feel the sound slap of Lilys hand upside his skull when he did something stupid, never argue with James over a Quidditch goal again...   
And to lose Remus. It had killed him inside to leave his friend behind, to leave him in the world thinking he had been forever betrayed and deserted. To have him believe all the wide-eyed and innocent promises they had made were swept away into the dust.   
And now... losing Harry.  
It was selfish to think only that way, but he couldnt help it... Harry had been so dear to him, like a son, like a little brother. Something to focus on when the pain gnawed too deep. Harry needed him. He had to be there for his godson, to protect him, to save him, to... to be there for him, to be his friend, so he didnt have to be alone...  
And now they were all gone.  
Empty chairs at empty tables.  
And yet, again, it was him who had left them. Always him, deserting those he loved to struggle on through the pain of life alone.   
But there was no escape this time.  
He had never really been afraid to die. It wasnt death that frightened him, or pain... none of that mattered, really. He just was so afraid to be alone... to be left alone for eternity... or to just not feel... What was it like, to not exist anymore...?  
Sirius had no idea how much time had passed. He couldnt see, couldnt feel anything past the tips of his fingers... It was the state of being just barely awake, just able to be aware that he even had a body... or did he? It was really impossible to tell, in the murkiness. But his mind raced. He thought, he seethed, he longed... And yet... was he walking? Was he breathing?   
Was there really a body there at all?  
His lips would have curled into a thin smile, if he could be sure they were there. What a stupid thought. It didnt matter anymore. He was dead. He was dead, because hed gotten careless. And Harry had seen it all, and Remus, and whoever else had been there in that terrible brawl.   
_Ghosts are simply the trace spirits of wizards who could not cross the final barrier._  
He didnt know what class he had learned that in. It had been on a test somewhere... he could still hear Remus quoting it back at him, that twitch starting in his brow that always poked up when he was tired. It had never mattered much to him before... But, was this the final barrier? Or was it past the final barrier?   
He hadnt been afraid.   
He had died for Harry, and he would do it again.  
_But it wasnt necessary._  
He didnt know that, though. Maybe, in the grand scheme of things, there was a reason hed had to die. Maybe the same reason Lily and James had died. Maybe there was a reason for everything. Maybe...  
Maybe hed never had a chance.  
Sirius shook the thought away as soon as it had come, viciously, like a hunting dog with a rat. That was a load hed have expected from a Divinations teacher, the great rot that it was. Of course hed had a chance. There was always a chance, for everything. But the cards had fallen the wrong way for the last time, for him. Maybe he could escape Azkaban, but nobody slipped through the prison bars of death.  
_Nice lyric. You should have headed that band after all._  
It was a nice idea, that was true.  
But hed been defeated, in the end. Hed looked Death in the face and taken it like a man... Protected those he loved with his life. It was all he could ask for, really, to die like a hero. In a sense. Harry had gotten away, and that was all that mattered.  
Harry had been saved. He knew that, somehow.   
_The universal consciousness is telling you things, Padfoot. Time for a nap.  
_He would have laughed if he knew how, without lungs... or maybe he had lungs. He hadnt quite felt that out yet.  
But... to be defeated...  
_Youve always been a sorry loser.  
_That was the truth of it. He always had been able to find a loophole before. Even in losing to James at card games... there was always a mistake in dealing, always a minor rule violated. Sirius Black did not lose. It wasnt in his vocabulary.  
_Yeah. Like diplomacy. And obfuscate.  
_Never say die, that was his motto.  
And horribly ironic, that was.  
To lose, to die... To be summarily defeated.  
It just didnt seem real. He still felt so vibrant, so thrumming with life... Didnt the dead _feel_ dead? He wasnt a ghost. If he was a ghost, he would be roaming about the Ministry and walking through walls by now. Was the end of life really this intolerable? He couldnt take this for eternity. For Merlins sake, he was already bored, and he was quite certain the school year wasnt even over yet.  
He hoped they cremated him. The idea of worms crawling all over a makeshift coffin wasnt rather appealing... Though he would make good fertilizer for Remuss vegetable garden. Moony did love picking out tomatoes and making salads. Never mind that he hated tomatoes, they grew best. He never did get to show Harry the rampant zucchini patch that had started out by the woods... They had planted three seeds, and the things were the size of a small cat. And almost as fuzzy...  
His mind was fluttering and wandering like mad, pausing on one memory or wish for seconds at a time, then moving to another just as swiftly. He had already mentally recited the users guide to his old motorbike from Chapters One through Eight when the finality of this struck him.  
In Azkaban, he could look forward to death.  
What could he look forward to now...?  
Certainly not the end of things, if this was the afterlife. Being left for eternity with his own thoughts. A sure madness if there ever was one.  
An uncertain fear had begun to simmer in the back of his thoughts. This... this couldnt really be it... how could this be all? To live for so long, thinking the end of the road was all fluffy clouds and sparkling angels... or at least something to _do_, something to occupy himself with! How could this be _all_? Where was the eternal rest, where was the just desserts? All this was- all this was just a bad case of insomnia without the option of getting out of bed and doing something.   
But this was forever...?  
He couldnt take this! God, hed rather be in the old Christian Hell! Hed rather suffer an eternal Christmas dinner back home than this, being left alone with his own guilt and uncertainty, his own tortured brain, for all of eternity! Hed do anything- God, he would be willing to do almost anything-!  
"Ahhh. The magic words."  
The voice invaded his senses with all the grace of a tiger on a killing spree- that was to say, morbidly graceful with just an edge of zealous glee. The murky blackness he suddenly registered as the insides of his eyelids parted into a white light, a piercing white light...  
A piercing white light suddenly fouled by the ink stain that was Severus Snape.  
"You!" The oath snapped out of a mouth he was just now aware of, his senses flooding into limbs and torso, into the fingers that swept raven hair from his face, into the feet that tingled cold on a tile floor. "What the Hell are _YOU_ doing here, you little snotrag on the floor of human existence? I died honorably! I shouldnt have to deal with YOU-"  
"Oh, _honestly_," sneered the black-robed apparition. "Youre dealing with your own psyche, so stop yelling before you rupture a nerve."  
A hand went obstinately for the wand he carried at his hip, only to brush cold skin. Sirius glanced irritably downwards, blinked stupidly at his own nakedness for a full five seconds, then swore filthily and covered himself with his hands, for a lack of a better idea.  
"Oh, did I forget to mention youre without all earthly possessions? How silly of me."  
In the midst of colorful descriptions of why exactly Snape might like to see him in his altogether, Sirius noted an easy chair in the corner of his vision. The moment the apparition in dusty robes went to rub his temples in disgust, he made a beeline for it and wrapped the flowered shawl on the back around his waist. Thus satisfied with his appearance, he coughed and determined to be more polite.  
"So what the Hell are you doing in my afterlife, o greasy wanker?"  
Snape sighed, an obviously forced note of regret echoing in the tone, and sat heavily in the armchair, the only apparent furnishing. "Getting your ungrateful attention. Now, since that unpleasant task is accomplished, perhaps it would be better to dredge up a better memory..."  
"...One youd be more likely to listen to rather than throttle," finished the easy grin of James Potter.  
Sirius stared blankly for a long moment, the appearance of his long-dead best friend taking quite a while to sink in. His voice was weak, as were his knees, and so the faint whisper came as he sat heavily on the tiled floor. "P-Prongs?"  
James smiled warmly, fiddling with the chair until a footrest sprung up from its bottom half. "Are you really that surprised to see me?" he rebuked, leaning back comfortably. "After all, were in the same plane now."  
"But..." Sirius was aware that his wide eyes were beginning to water. "James, I..." He stood up again, uncomfortably, and gratefully took the chair that materialized next to him. "I- I just dont get whats going on... I think..."  
"Youre dead," his best friend supplied helpfully.  
"Im aware of that," Sirius snapped, leveling a glare. "That doesnt explain why the Hell Snivellus was poking around. _Hes_ certainly not dead."  
It was a long moment before James answered, his hazel eyes regarding the nonexistent ceiling. Sirius shifted uncomfortably, arranging the flower shawl. This... this just didnt feel right... Why did he still feel like blood was pumping in his veins, like his heart was still beating...?  
"Okay, Padfoot. Heres your situation." Jamess voice was clear and calm, just like when he was espousing his latest prank idea. "Youre dead, obviously. But you havent crossed over."  
"But Im not a ghost," Sirius interjected. "Ghosts just stay where they died. Im... wherever I am..." He eyed the room suspiciously, wondering where the end of the floor was, or if it just ran straight into the wall...   
"Yeah, Im getting to that, mate." James rummaged in his pockets, pulled out nothing but wrinkled wrappers, and sighed regretfully. "Sorry, guess I ate the rest of them."  
Sirius glared at him wordlessly.  
"Okay, okay!" James sighed, then leaned back again. "First off, dont get your hopes up... Like Snivellus said, youre talking to your own mind."  
Sirius opened his mouth, then closed it again, utterly baffled.  
"You didnt cross over when you died, like youre supposed to. Like you said, youre not a ghost, but thats because ghosts still cling to life, because theyre scared to move on, or because they still have things to do. You werent scared to die. You didnt have things to resolve. So youre not a ghost. Do you understand that much?" James spread his hands, blinking at him woefully.  
"I have that... its just that-"  
"Patience, dear Padfoot, patience..." The hazel eyes were beginning to sparkle now, the familiar glint of mischief almost back. "So you arent clinging to life, but as you havent crossed over, theres only one possibility left..."  
"That being?" Sirius leaned forward, almost unconsciously.   
"Life is clinging to you."  
"Well, that makes perfect- What?"  
James shrugged. "Theres someone still living that has such a powerful tie to you that they cant let you go. Maybe more than one person. Maybe its the whole bloody country, who knows. But someone is holding you to life."  
Sirius stared down at his hands, a distinct ache gnawing at his heart. Harry... Remus... He had left them behind yet again. Harry, losing another father. Remus, losing the friend and lover hed thought he had lost forever.   
"Soooo..." Hazel eyes bored into him, and Sirius blinked guiltily up from his reverie. "You have two options, as I see it."  
"I thought you said you were my psyche." Sirius raised an eyebrow tiredly. This was starting to give him a headache. It wasnt fair to be dead with a headache... was there nothing to look forward to?  
"Oh, good call." James winked. "You have a point there. I suppose you want me to explain that."  
"Not really, not at all." Sirius rubbed his temples. At this point, he would rather not know. He was well used to his brain doing strange things... it had been the only thing to keep him alive in Azkaban for a good long time. This was just one more, he supposed. "What are my two options, psyche?"  
"One, you remain in limbo and entertain yourself for eternity."  
Sirius shuddered reflexively. He had been out there five minutes and had already longed for oblivion.   
"Two, you pay the obligatory heinous price and you find some way to scrabble your way back to life."  



	2. Chapter Two

***   
Note- Well, things seem to make more sense now, at least. I managed to fix the apostrophe thing with this chapter, but the line break problem is still here, sorry... I'll work on it. ^^;  
***  
  
  
"Come back to life."  
The tone of his voice was skeptical, at best. There was no way. He didn't know how many times he had heard it from Madame Pomfrey... Magic could heal almost any wound in hours or days, but no magic could bring you back to life. That was a lesson any child knew. Death was death.  
"Aren't you up to the challenge, Padfoot?" Jamess eyes sparkled. "The ultimate barrier to break down. You could-"  
"Are you _joking_?!" Sirius sprang from the chair, hands steadying the shawl wrapped precariously about his hips. "Prongs, that's impossible. Once you die, you're dead! I know that!" The tightness in his chest clenched painfully, but he swallowed it back and stared this apparition of his best friend in the eyes. "It can't be done."  
"That doesn't sound at all like you." James pouted at him.  
Sirius stared at the floor, fingers clenching into the thin shawl. It didn't sound like him... Not like the him he had been so long ago. Not like the him that had died in the depths of Azkaban. He'd tried so hard to bring him back, tried to bring back his recklessness and cheer, but how well had that worked, when Harry...  
"I had to change," he said softly. "I had to be careful, I had to be cautious. I had to be there for him, I had to be safe so I could protect him."  
"Worked quite well for a while."  
The cool observation stung, and Sirius turned to glare daggers at the easy chair, fighting the desperate need to clench his muscles and fight back with fists. His anger froze in the pit of his stomach when he was faced with simply the chair. James was gone.  
"Prongs...?" he whispered, baffled.  
"Mr. Black, I will thank you to sit and pay quiet attention to what I have to say."  
"Yes ma'am!" Sirius yelped, falling back firmly into the chair that had been provided for him. The piercing gaze of Minerva McGonagall followed him disapprovingly, then returned to the clean blackboard that had materialized against the far wall.   
He was growing used to the bewildering switching of casts. His dreams had always run like this, after all; random people who interacted with him by day informing him of the sheer importance of butterflies to the world's ecosystem. Why should death be any different, if he was only alone with his own mind...?  
"This is your present situation," the lady professor said sharply, attacking the once-pristine board with chalk. "You are-" she drew a quick stick figure, "presently beyond the veil of life." A line was drawn in front of the Sirius-stick. "But your final resting place, what is known as death, is past here." Another white line appeared, this time behind him. "This area here, which houses you, is known in common terminology as 'limbo'. Also, those who subscribe to the common Muggle religion of Catholicism would term it 'purgatory'. As you should know from History of Magic, some wizards agree with this method of belief."  
Sirius sank back into his chair, feeling uncomfortably like he should be taking notes.  
"Are you grasping all this, Mr. Black?"   
"Yes, ma'am."  
McGonagall nodded crisply and continued. "As you have been informed, you have not crossed beyond this veil-" she indicated the line behind him, "because there is a great force in the living world holding your spirit close."  
Sirius nodded dumbly.  
She pursed her lips and eyed him, setting the chalk down on the ledge and lacing her wizened fingers together before her. "The power of magic is one we know well and understand," she lectured. "The studies have been intensive, and as a whole, we believe we comprehend how it moves. However, from instance to instance, wizards are reminded that magic is not the only powerful force in our world."  
Sirius watched her raptly as the apparition of his old professor moved to pacing, her eyes avoiding his as she would always during an uncomfortable lecture. "As has been observed in the case of young Harry Potter, the power of a sacrifice has the ability to save lives that should otherwise have been taken. That sort of sacrifice forever binds the saviour to the saved, even through the furthest boundaries of death." She coughed softly, and continued. "That sort of emotion has been known, in extreme cases, to even raise the dead. This is best illustrated by Voldemorts return to life and power one year ago."  
Sirius blinked, impressed at her casual use of the name. Then again, she was always a tough old bird. He raised his hand meekly, not feeling it right to just talk out in the middle of her lecture. It wasnt as though she could take House points away... or give him detention... but you never did know.  
"Yes, Mr. Black?"  
"Hadn't Voldemort really returned before that?" he asked quietly. "With the Philosopher's Stone?"  
A glimmer of a smile passed her thin lips. "You've done your homework, even while inside Azkaban. Ten points to Gryffindor."  
Somehow, no matter how odd the feeling was, Sirius was sure points had indeed been added to Harrys house.  
"Yes, Mr. Black, you are correct. Voldemort had never truly died; the reflection of the Killing Curse had been enough to incapacitate and nearly destroy him, until he had found a willing host. He had been at the brink of death-" here she paused to indicate slightly before the first line on her diagram, "but not truly gone. For, if he had been truly dead, it would have taken much more than a few drops of blood for his return."  
Sirius nodded, shifting again. This was why he had never taken private lessons: too much pressure when there was only one student. But he listened nonetheless. This was more important than O.W.L.s or anything else. This was life or death.  
"Voldemort was revived, among other things, by the blood of a wizard who despised him. He was thus conceived in hate, the opposite of that emotion that had destroyed him. Hate is an exceedingly powerful human emotion, Mr. Black; hate can move a mountain as surely as love can." McGonagall gazed at him soberly, and Sirius found it difficult to meet her eyes.   
"And yet, it is not hate that ties you still to the living world; it is love. There is a great love that refuses to let you go."  
Sirius parted his lips to ask who, knowing already the question was futile. He knew who.   
"There were two loves in your life, Mr. Black. These were the two loves you died for, who you sacrificed your life for. This sacrifice binds their souls to you, unalterably, as we have discussed."  
He nodded mutely.  
"However, their binding to your soul has forced you into purgatory. In a sense..." McGonagall pushed her small glasses further up her nose. "You gave them your life, and they refused to accept it."   
"Yes, ma'am." It was too much. Too much, to think that his death was that much of a trauma, a trauma to measure up with Lily's sacrifice? It wasn't the same; it wasn't the same at all. And yet... and yet, here he was.  
"Do you wish to remain here, Mr. Black?"  
It was the same look she had given him when asking '_are you sure you want to continue on in Arithmancy?' _It was obviously an option, but if he had any sense, he would say no.  
And the damnable thing, she was always right.  
"No, ma'am, I dont think that I do."  
"I see." She cleared her throat in a familiar and businesslike fashion. "So, I assume you are familiar with Voldemort's second attempt at resurrection."  
Sirius blinked stupidly.  
She scowled down at him. "The diary, Mr. Black...?"  
"Right!" He slammed a fist into his palm, then hastily returned it to holding up the shawl. "The Weasley girl, Ginny. Voldemort left part of his spirit in the diary, and he absorbed her soul to gain his sixteen-year-old form."  
"Very good. Five points."  
Sirius fairly glowed.  
"So, this would be an easy route for you, Mr. Black. To alter the resurrection process used last year with the addition of the one two years previous." With a quick wave of a wand he hadn't noticed before, the blackboard was cleared. "A holding object of part of your spirit-" she dashed off a quick box, "in simple addition to-" a plus sign, "the blood of a wizard tied to you who loves you and earnestly wishes your return."  
Sirius cleared his throat to protest.  
"As you died from hate, you will conceived in love. A rather hasty preparation, but I daresay a logical one." Her eyes focused on his uncertain frown. "Do you foresee a difficulty, Mr. Black?"  
"I, um..." Sirius winced. "It's a magnificent plan, professor, except I didnt leave anything like that... I mean, I didn't have any grand plan, or see this happening. And even if I had... how are we supposed to communicate this to anyone alive so they can do it? At least Voldemort was half-alive and had loyal followers..."  
"That, Mr. Black, is your homework."  
Sirius groaned and slumped over, head falling into his hands as the lady professor saw fit to dematerialize. Of course. Even in purgatory, no professor was ever going to cut him a favor. Why change in death what was a pattern all through life?  
In his morose self-pity, he failed to notice a curious lightness in his torso, a strange prickling sensation throughout his veins. After all, how could he know...  
...That a dimension or so away, a fist had slammed into a tear-stained hand mirror he had given him, blood staining the glass fragments, all as a sobbing young man earnestly wished his return?   



	3. Author's Note

  
***  
Apologetic Author's Note- Okay, Chapter 3 is half done. I could get it done in another few hours, but the problem is this. I, gentle readers, am going to Disney World. I leave tomorrow. Thus, I won't have any updates for you for... well, more than ten days. However, I am taking my notebook with me, so I hope to have three or four handwritten chapters by the time I get back. I'll certainly have plenty of time in the car.  
  
I'm glad this fic is soothing the wounds of some of you. (Passive voice, erk.) It makes me happy to write it, too. I made the mistake of not mentioning slash in the summary, but I have the feeling most of you don't mind some slashy undertones. Everything will end up well, I promise. It's meant to be a feel-good fic, for everyone.  
  
So it may be a while. Please don't be upset or eat my spleen or anything unfortunate. I'll have a load of fic for you all when I get back. Cheers to all!  
***


	4. Chapter Three

***  
Note- I'm still not through my inbox yet- thanks for all the feedback, guys! *sniffle* I just got back today, and I typed up this chapter as fast as I could. I have another one and a half handwritten, so I'll get that up as soon as I can.   
  
By the way, the song lyric Sirius thinks of is from "Jesus Christ Superstar". I have this obsession with linking it to Harry Potter, I guess.  
***  
  
Sorting.  
  
It happened every year. The same ceremony every year, the Hat putting them in their Houses. It really wasn't anything special anymore. It was kinda neat, seeing all the midgets in line terrified... but as a prefect, it was his job to keep them in line. After the Gryffindor midgets found their way over, he'd herd them to the Common Room along with Hermione, and they'd be able to sit down and talk.  
  
His eyes darted worriedly to his best mate, the round glasses fallen far down the boy's nose. His hair was as mussed as always, though it looked like it hadn't been brushed more than usual. His once-bright green eyes were somewhat dulled, his smiles not as frequent.  
  
Harry barely smiled at all anymore.  
  
He'd felt the fear of losing his father, last year. But still, worrying over it and having it actually happen were two different things. He couldn't even imagine what Harry was going through, losing Sirius...   
  
But all he could do was just sit with him and talk about other things. It was all he knew how to do, really.   
  
The long line was reaching its end, and Ron stretched with a long yawn. He wanted to eat. He wanted to go take a nap. Anything but sitting here agonizing over every minute change in Harry's expression. Anything but-  
  
"Ron!"   
  
He blinked up dumbly at Hermione, who was attempting to get his attention to the fore. "Look!" she mouthed, pointing to the stool.  
  
Dumbledore was standing beside it, a genial smile on his crinkled face. "Due to recent circumstances, we have a transfer into our fifth year," he announced, as though adding a fruit to the menu. "As this is the O.W.L.s year, please treat him gently."  
  
"Evans, Nigel," Professor McGonagall read in her cool, clipped tone.  
  
It was a tall, dark-haired boy who took the stool as though he had been doing it all his life. Ron was too far away to catch any details, but he could catch the delighted female murmur from the front. He couldn't avoid the glower that blossomed red over his ears, but he pretended loftily not to care. "Transfer, huh?" he commented. "That's weird."  
  
"Mmm." Hermione's brow was furrowed, attempting to catch a glance of him. "And to transfer in fifth year... it must be dreadfully exciting."  
  
Ron rolled his eyes and nudged Harry hopefully. He was rewarded with a hollow laugh.  
  
"GRYFFINDOR!"  
  
"Like that's a surprise," Hermione observed absently. "The odd one out always goes to Gryffindor."  
  
Ron nodded in grudging agreement. Colin Creevey... Neville...   
  
"And now, before there is mass rebellion..." Dumbledore paused dramatically. "We eat!"  
  
"Wonder why he's so happy," Harry muttered darkly, digging violently into a helpless pudding.   
  
There was a moment of confused silence, neither Ron nor Hermione having a clue what could possibly be said.  
  
"Hey, why's there no new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher up there being introduced?" Ron offered hastily, craning his neck to peer at the professors' table. "Empty seat, too."  
  
Harry nodded agreement, casting a quick glance. "Maybe they couldn't get one this year," he commented. "Bad publicity."  
  
"Honestly, didn't you two read the letter enclosed with our book list?" Hermione regarded them with nothing less than complete befuddlement. "You'd think that if they sent it to us, it would be important enough to-" She paused at the joint look of obvious confusion, then sighed. "_Honestly._ Professor Lupin has been summoned back, as he's the only one who's not either dead or brainless, or overly occupied with the Order. The letter said all complaints should be directed to Professor Dumbledore's office and would be summarily dealt with. They even detailed the potions he's taking to abate his condition."  
  
"Well, that's something, I guess," Ron said hopefully. "He's a good guy."  
  
Harry nodded silently, then turned a pale shade of green.  
  
"Here comes Colin. Hide me."  
  
Ron shoved him casually under the table in the seconds before the enthusiastic Gryffindor made his way through the crowd. His face fell at the sight of no Harry, but that didn't stop the boy from leaning over to talk to them.  
  
"That transfer student was looking for Harry!" he said brightly. "D'you think they know each other? He's in my year, y'know!"  
  
"Is he now, Colin?" Hermione asked calmly. "But Harry's off taking care of something right now... I'm sure he'll be in the Common Room later."  
  
Colin nodded rapidly. "I know, that's what _I_ said. But Nigel's really insistent... All the girls up there are disappointed he's more interested in Harry than them." He showed a bright smile. "They're already buzzing about him, but I'm sure you'll hear, Hermione. Right, Ron?"  
  
"...Right," Ron agreed placidly. Colin could be hard to follow. After the camera-toting fifth year had made his way to the head of the table again, he nudged Harry with his foot. "He's gone, mate."  
  
Harry reappeared, somewhat ruffled with glasses askew. "That transfer was looking for me?" he repeated, a dark brow raised.  
  
"Sounds dead suspicious to me," Ron muttered in agreement. "Watch out for 'im, Harry."  
  
"Ron, he could easily just be a fan," Hermione placated. "We dont even know him yet."  
  
"You just fancy him," Ron accused, before really thinking about the words coming out of his mouth.  
  
"_Fancy_ him? I've never even MET him!"  
  
"Don't you two even start," Harry said quietly, rubbing his temples.  
  
***  
  
"Mr. Evans, if you could wait a moment."  
  
The crisp voice halted him in his tracks, a familiar sheepish grin coming to his lips as he turned on a booted heel. It wasn't as though he'd done anything worth a scolding yet, but old habits always did die hard.  
  
"Yes, ma'am," he returned obediently, following Professor McGonagall into the alcove she indicated. Her quick eyes darted over the mostly-empty hallway, then returned to him, apparently satisfied with their privacy.   
  
"You're sure of your story, Mr. Evans?" she queried, eyeing him with that familiar air of disapproval.  
  
"Yes, ma'am."  
  
"Repeat it for me."  
  
He sighed, but obeyed. "My family is pureblooded, and didn't want to send me to Hogwarts because of Professor Dumbledore. They sent me this year of my O.W.L.s, and because the Ministry is taking a more active interest in the school. I've been hometaught until now."  
  
"If you're pureblooded, why is the Evans name not known in the wizarding world?" McGonagall pursed her lips.   
  
"'Cause there was a family dispute, and half the line started breeding with Muggles," he returned glibly. "There aren't very many of us left, and most moved to Germany."  
  
McGonagall paused, then nodded sharply. "Good. Now..." Her stern countenance softened, ever so slightly. "I will warn you to be careful... there is a reasonable chance that Potter will not believe your story."  
  
"I know, Professor." He nodded soberly. "But I'll make him believe me, I have to." He steeled his jaw and nodded again, and then again. "I have to."  
  
Suddenly, with no more warning than a helpless sigh, Professor McGonagall took his shoulders in bony but strong hands, holding him fast to her thin bosom with all the desperation of a woman who had thought a dear child was gone forever. "You must be _careful_, Sirius," she whispered fervently. "_Careful._ Harry cannot lose you again... the Order cannot lose you again. This school cannot lose you. You must be _cautious_."  
  
Sirius froze there for a moment, but closed his eyes and hugged the lady professor tightly. "I-I will, Professor," he said softly.  
  
After a few uncomfortable seconds, McGonagall released him and gave a crisp, businesslike nod. "The professors who have a necessity to know of your situation have already been expressly informed. Please report to your Common Room at once."  
  
"Yes, ma'am."  
  
McGonagall turned efficiently on her heel and clicked down the corridor, disappearing around a corner more swiftly than he could think to call after her. Which professors had needed to know...? Who could he talk to?  
  
Snape, obviously. Poor Snivellus... seeing him like this was going to be like an apparition from the poor man's fifth year. And having to teach him, no less.  
  
Sirius leaned back against the wall, sighing heavily and sweeping his short black hair out of his face. To say it was a strange feeling would be selling it far short. To... to be here again in these black and scarlet robes, here again, fifteen again, alive again-! He had no idea how it had happened. One moment he'd been agonizing over how to return to life when he'd no way of contacting anyone living... The next, he'd woken ensconced warmly in his old bed in his old room at Grimmauld. Staring Kreacher right in his ugly face.   
  
First, he'd thrashed that traitorous creature within an inch of his life. He remembered, just before he'd left the house for the last time, the sickly look of triumph on the elf's face. _Harry Potter called for master, sir_...  
  
He'd been so afraid, so afraid for Harry... It didn't matter if it had been a trap, if he had known it or not. He'd had to go. Harry was as dear to him as his own son would have been... or a kid brother...  
  
Sirius rubbed his temples. Funny to think, that his body was younger than Harry's now.  
  
The warmth still hadn't left him. It pumped through his veins, effusing him with heat. He still felt silly to think it... but he'd woken up feeling as though he was holding someone, was being held, being loved...  
  
Maybe it was stupid, but... _killed by hate, conceived in love...  
_  
"Hey, Nigel! It was Nigel, right?"  
  
It took a moment for the name to register, but Sirius started from the wall and blinked back to life within a reasonable time just the same. "Yeah, Nigel Evans," he said cordially, extending a hand.  
  
The blond teenager took his hand and pumped it enthusiastically. "Colin Creevey! I'm a Gryffindor too, fifth year! It's absolutely _brilliant_ here, youll _love_ it. Even if it _is_ our O.W.L.s year..." His smile faltered a bit, but remained cheery nonetheless.   
  
"Good t'meet you, Colin." It was hard to keep a chuckle back. Harry had mentioned the Creevey boy only once or twice, but the stories were hard to forget.  
  
"So, why did you transfer? Were you at a different school or something? The other wizarding schools came here for the Triwizard Tournament two years ago, you know. Hogwarts won, of course, because Harry Potter was competing. I'm sure you know all about Harry, though."  
  
"Who doesn't?" He'd even changed a few of the boy's diapers... he could only smile at the thought.  
  
Colin prattled on as they walked together towards the Gryffindor Common Room, about silly things, meaningless things. He didn't mind it. It gave him time to think, time to get accustomed to the facade. He had to convince Harry, somehow... What McGonagall had said was right. The boy was too cautious to just accept him, after all. It would be simplest to just transform... but that wasn't quite enough. Peter knew-... no, Wormtail knew. The traitor wasn't good enough for his name anymore.  
  
_Peter will deny me, in just a few hours... three times, will deny me...  
  
_The lyric drifted through his mind, and Sirius quirked a slight grin. So many had called him Judas, and maybe there was a little truth there, he'd been so enthusiastic, so blind... But so many forgot that the greatest betrayal came from Peter.  
  
"...Um, Nigel?"  
  
"Eh-!" Sirius jumped, spinning round and nearly tripping over the edge of his robes. Colin had his head cocked, a hand on the wall beside the Fat Lady's portrait. "Oh." He coughed sheepishly. "Sorry, drifted off in thought there."  
  
"Oh, that's fine." Colin smiled good-naturedly. "I'm sure there's a lot on your mind. I just thought we-"  
  
"Sirius Black?" the portrait interrupted, blinking lazily.  
  
It was always in the tightest moments that a man would show his true character, or so they all said. There had never been a moment tight than this. There had never been a man with more character, or so he'd heard said. Maybe.  
  
So Sirius Black would show his mettle.  
  
"Where?" he yelped, spinning back around and frantically searching the stone wall behind him.   
  
"No, that's Nigel," he could hear Colin inform the portrait. "He's a new fifth year."  
  
"Don't be silly," the painted lady said imperiously. "That's little Sirius Black. Had a little trouble with a Time Turner, dear? Last time I saw you, dear, you slashed me up with a steak knife. Don't do that again, please."  
  
Sirius ran a hand through his short hair, trying to hide his face, turning back to face the familiar portrait. "Colin, just say the password," he muttered. They didn't tell the Fat Lady. Well, he couldnt blame Dumbledore, he hadn't thought of it either... he'd have to tell her later, alone...  
  
"Hinkypunk," Colin piped cheerily. Still eyeing him blearily, the portrait swung open and Sirius crossed through as swiftly as possible. Close, too close...  
  
There were obvious reasons he had to keep his identity a secret. One, wizards didn't come back from the dead. Ever. Two, the majority of the wizarding world thought him a Death Eater and insane murderer. Three... he didn't feel like explaining what had happened every five seconds, especially when he wasn't quite sure himself.  
  
The Gryffindor Common Room was nearly the same as he remembered it; the same fire and the same chairs, the same bulletin board in the corner. But it was so strange... to not recognize a single face...  
  
"Nigel! Youre Nigel, right?"  
  
He cursed silently, but grinned affably into the unknown girl's face. "That's me," he returned generously.   
  
"I'm Lavender, Lavender Brown," she introduced brightly. "I just wanted to wish you luck this year, with your O.W.L.s and everything..."  
  
"Thanks so much, Lavender." Sirius smiled at her genuinely. He really did need all the luck he could get... and making friends was the fastest way to getting tutors. Besides, it would be nice to have some casual friends again. He hadn't been able to afford having anyone but Remus, James, and Lily after seventh year.  
  
He didn't count Wormtail anymore.  
  
"I'd introduce you to the local celebrity, but he's not in..." Lavender indicated an empty chair by the fireplace. "Harry Potter, of course. You know who he is?"  
  
"'Course." Sirius sighed mentally, then launched into the story again. "I live here, I was just home-taught until now."  
  
"Home-taught? By your parents?" The girl seemed genuinely interested.   
  
"Parents, tutors." Sirius sat on the arm of one of the couches, arranging his robes compulsively. "My family's pureblooded... _really _pureblooded..." The annoyance in his tone was not in the least bit feigned, and Lavender smiled. "So they didn't want me here, but I can't get my O.W.L.s at home."  
  
"Oh..." She nodded sympathetically. "You'll have _so _much catching up to do."  
  
"Well, they taught me off what they did at Hogwarts, so I don't think I'll be terribly bad off." He was reasonably confident. After all, he'd taken the O.W.L.s before, and he'd done just fine.  
  
"But the classes have been updated, and so have the tests! The old curriculum is obsolete." Lavender nodded knowledgably, completely missing the look of complete horror on his face.  
  
"Oh! That reminds me!" He slammed his fist into his palm, startling both Lavender and the several girls who had begun to eavesdrop. He'd think about that later... much later. "Can you do me a favor, Lavender?"  
  
"Sure, I guess." She blinked up at him.   
  
"I need to find-" Harry wasn't there. Odds were, Ron was either with him or looking for him. That left... "Hermione Granger. She's a prefect, right? I'm supposed to see her about... tutoring." Genius. Sheer genius.  
  
"She'd be the one to see." Lavender seemed strangely disappointed. "Hermione's by the bookcase, she's the one with the prefect's badge. Oh, but-" Her voice brightened. "If you need a Divinations tutor, it's my best subject. I'd be thrilled to help you out, if you'd like."  
  
"I'd like that. Thanks, Lavender." Sirius smiled kindly, then stood up, brushing himself off.  
  
There was a certain flutter in his throat as he picked his way across the cluttered Common Room. Ron would be swayed by his sincerity, he always was. Harry... he could appeal to Harry's emotions and anguish.  
  
But Hermione was going to be a tough sell.  
  
He cleared his throat carefully, running his fingers through his hair and mussing it before his eyes. He didn't know if Hermione had ever seen pictures or not, but he couldn't afford to take the chance.  
  
"Hermione Granger?" he asked casually.  
  
Hermione paused in her reading- something incredibly thick that seemed to have something to do with Arithmancy- and looked up, brushing a few strands of hair from her eyes. "Yes?" she queried, obviously distracted.  
  
"I'm Nigel Evans, I need to talk to you about tutoring...?" He motioned quickly with his head. "Can we, uh, talk in private?"  
  
"I suppose." She eyed him, bewildered, but closed her book and put it aside, standing. "We could use one of the boys' rooms... Ron, Neville, and Seamus are out looking for Harry, so that room is empty."  
  
"Lead the way."  
  



	5. Chapter Four

***  
Note- Sirius has a raging paternal instinct. I'm warning you of this right now. And see if you can catch the narration quote from Prisoner of Azkaban. Cookies for anyone who does! Virtual cookies!  
***  
  
Sirius followed Hermione up the stairs and into the small dormitory, heart pounding in his throat. She had to believe him... and yet, so many things he couldnt explain...  
  
"So," the girl said crisply, "this is an important year for you. Youll obviously have much studying to do. First, we should begin with- Nigel...?"  
  
His fingers traced the jagged, broken edges of the small mirror, the marks along the edges of the shattered glass... a sickly rust... dried blood? It was the hand mirror he'd given to Harry to contact him with in times of danger. Smashed, bloody...  
  
"Harry..." he whispered, eyes aching. Why...?  
  
"Oh, that's Harrys," Hermione said quickly, taking the broken frame gingerly from his hands before he had a chance to protest. "I suppose Professor Lupin left it here for him..." There was a trace of embarrassment and sadness in the poor girl's voice, her sweet face dark with some warring emotion. He stood helpless, a hand still reaching out for the mirror, longing impotently to just stroke her hair back and kiss her forehead like a big brother, to give her a good hug and tell her it was all okay, it was all going to be fine, he was back now and he wasn't going away again...  
  
And yet, he didn't. Because he never did.  
  
"Well, I guess- Professor _Lupin_?!" Sirius tried to keep his jaw from dropping, and had the distinct feeling he had failed miserably. "You mean, Remus Lupin...?" Wonderful. Not only was he in Snivellus' class, he was going to have to be an obedient student to _Remus Lupin._ His partner in crime and life. The heinous price in returning as fifteen was becoming more and more clear.   
  
Hermione raised an eyebrow, not privy to his thoughts. "Yes..." she said carefully. "He's teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts again this year. Do you know him, Nigel?"  
  
Sirius sat heavily on one of the four beds, then patted a spot beside him, forgetting for a moment that he was technically fifteen, just remembering that Hermione was a scared little girl putting on a hard face for a cold and harsh world. She was only a sixteen-year-old girl, thrust into the front line of a war for all their lives... and yet she stuck by Harry, loyal to a friendship that could easily be her death. "Hermione," he said seriously, "Hermione... sit down for a minute, I've so much to tell you."  
  
"Um... Nigel?"  
  
Sirius blinked at her for a long moment, baffled as to the bewilderment and trace revulsion on her face. Then, with a pang of utter mortification, it struck him: a transfer student, asking for tutoring, trapping her in a deserted boys' dormitory and inviting her to sit on the bed, snug beside him. It was something not even James would have been desperate enough to pull with a girl. Did boys even still try it? ...Well, there was really no hope for the advancement of the male mind when it came to girls.  
  
"Hermione-" He couldn't help but chuckle at the ridiculous picture he must be presenting to the poor prefect. "Hermione, this isn't what it looks like. I've a rather unbelievable story to tell you, if you'll listen."  
  
She sat lightly on the bed across from his, face skeptical at best. "Go on," she said calmly, watching him like she would a rabid animal.   
  
"Okay." Sirius took a deep breath, gathering himself. The moment of truth... it would be easier if he said it all quickly. It always was, with this kind of thing. "My name is not Nigel Evans, I'm not fifteen years old, and I'm not a transfer student."  
  
"Who are you, then?" It was impossible to tell if she were taking him seriously or not, her dark eyes focused on him in scholarly consideration. At worst, she just thought him barmy... that was better than a crazed, hormonal stalker, at least. So he took another deep breath and steeled himself for the worst.  
  
_Never say die.  
_  
"Sirius Black," he said firmly.  
  
The reaction was immediate. In mere seconds, his collar was digging into the back of his neck, the front of his robes clenched in Hermione's fist with astonishing strength. Though she had failed to even budge him from where he had been sitting, the singular ferocity of the girl was enough to freeze him there.  
  
"How dare you," she whispered, eyes burning cold.  
  
His lips formed her name in silent shock. Never would he have guessed it in Hermione's character to offer bodily harm to another student like this. He'd heard the stories of her slapping Malfoy, but that was a Malfoy, and she'd been provoked past the point of anyone's common sense. Here, even he quailed under the rage in her eyes, shrinking back from her smaller frame.  
  
"Sirius Black was murdered," the girl whispered, eyes flinty and voice ice. "He is _dead_. I don't understand what you are playing at, but I will not allow this shameless cruelty to harm Harry. If you are one of Voldemort's agents, then I can handle you myself, right here and now. If you are merely playing a terrible practical joke, I will turn you in to Professor Dumbledore before your first class." Her cold voice was beginning to shake, her fingers curling into his wrinkled robes with more and more tenacity. "Sirius was a good man, and Harry loved him very much. I will not allow any more pain to come to him because of your petty tricks."  
  
Struck dumb, Sirius merely stared into her eyes, hands slack by his sides. After what seemed like an eternity, he forced speech past trembling lips.  
  
"You said his name."   
  
"I-I what?" This had surprised Hermione.  
  
"His name! Voldemort!" He could barely suppress a grin of perhaps misplaced pride. "When did you start that, Hermione? The last time I saw you, at Christmas... you still couldn't do it." Sirius smiled fondly, a bit distantly. "I'd bet money Ron still can't... poor Molly would send him after the doxies with a toothbrush if he ever dared."  
  
In the silence that followed, Hermiones fingers uncurled slowly from his collar, the steel in her eyes wavering.  
  
"Prove it," she said softly.  
  
"What...?"  
  
"Prove that you're Sirius Black," she ordered. "Prove it to me sufficiently, and I'll believe you."  
  
Sirius winced, eyes falling to his slack hands. "It's not so easy, Hermione," he whispered. "How can I prove it? There's nothing between me and Harry, or you, or Ron, that Voldemort's spies couldnt know. I could transform for you, but Wormtail knows I'm an Animagus, and it has to be simple enough for dark magics to simulate." His fingers clenched helplessly. "Anything I could think of, someone else knows too, or could have found out. Our code name. My powers. Harry's birthmarks, even. I don't know how to prove myself, Hermione." The plea in his words was tangible, hands spread in supplication. What could he do...?  
  
"Well, humor me," she said crisply, the business back in her voice. "Transform."  
  
With a vertigo of color and blur, he did so. He had made sure the ability had returned with him less than five minutes after he awoke- one could never be too certain. Sirius remained as the great black dog for a few moments, sniffing alertly at the unfamiliar smells drifting through the room. Then his hands found the mussed coverlet again, and he sighed softly, rubbing his eyes reflexively.  
  
Hermione nodded, something unreadable in her eyes. "What was our code name for you?" she asked tonelessly.   
  
"Snuffles," Sirius replied promptly. Silly name... he'd had a Puffskein named Snuffles once, when he was tiny.   
  
"I didn't know anything about Harry having a birthmark. Tell me about it."  
  
Sirius smiled distantly at the memory. "Yeah... it wasn't really anything tremendous, but James insisted that the freckles on his lower back, right there or so-" he poked at the area right above his tailbone, "formed a 'J'. Lily said it was a fishhook, I said it was a shrimp, Moony insisted it was half the Communist flag. Peter thought-" He caught himself, face twisting into a snarl for the few seconds before he could reach composure.  
  
The dormitory subsided into a long silence. His heart pounded uncomfortably in his throat.  
  
"I wish I could be sure." Hermione's voice had lost some of its harshness as she slumped limply on the bed across from his. Her dark eyes surveyed him slowly, her fingers twisting into her robes. "You seem so like him, in everything you say, everything you do... I only wish-" Suddenly, her eyes flashed, and she jumped to her feet, stomping across the floor in evident frustration. "I would say to go to Professor Dumbledore, but he stood right beside you being sorted- besides, he's been fooled before with things like this, poor Professor Moody and all."  
  
"None of the professors took more than a few minutes to convince," Sirius agreed powerlessly. "Besides, I've hoodwinked the Headmaster plenty of times. We stole the entire class list for the year above us and renamed everyone fifth year. All it took was a lookout, some chicory, and the Marauders' M-"  
  
Hermione turned to face him in bewildered curiousity as he swallowed the rest of the word, staring in disbelief into nowhere.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"I'm so _stupid_!" Sirius exclaimed, springing to his feet and promptly diving to the floor. "This is Harry's bed, right, his things?"  
  
"Well, yes, but-"  
  
"So stupid-!" He smacked himself in the forehead with the heel of his hand and proceeded to rummage through Harry's things. "I cant believe I'm so _blasted_ stupid."  
  
"You shouldn't be going through Harrys luggage, Si- Ni- who_ever_ you are!" Hermione scolded impotently, wringing her hands. "He'll be _furious-_"  
  
"I'm allowed, I'm his thrice-damned godfather- what in _blazes_ is that boy doing with _three_ Sneak-o-scopes?"  
  
"He keeps getting them as presents," she said lamely. "What are you looking for, anyway?"  
  
"Proof!" Sirius said triumphantly, tugging a scrap of old parchment free with long fingers. "I thought of proof."  
  
Hermione blinked silently at the parchment in his hands, then raised her eyes to his. "The Marauders' Map?" she queried.  
  
"The Marauders' Map!" he confirmed with wild glee. "I'm a bloody _Marauder_, I can't believe I almost forgot it." He unfurled the faded paper with a flourish, then smoothed it over his hand with a fond sigh. Oh, the memories... "I solemnly swear to do no good," he informed it, then trailed a fingertip in a practiced pattern over its surface.  
  
"I thought the user had to tap their wand tip on the parchment," Hermione observed, obviously intrigued.   
  
"Any other user does," Sirius answered nonchalantly. "I helped make this darling- it knows my touch. Besides, I managed to leave the replacement wand Ollivander gave me in Dumbledore's office. Old man hasn't returned it yet."  
  
Hermione seemed about to protest the rough referral to the Headmaster, but grew distracted by the Map. The web of ink spread under his fingertip, connecting into thousands of rooms and floors as he watched patiently. The poor thing hadn't been used for a while, obviously- it was showing off a bit too much. Probably his influence... but it was all academic.  
  
"Gryffindor Tower, boys' dorm, uh..." He glanced around quickly. "Gryffindor Tower, boys' dorm four."  
  
Hermione watched closely over his shoulder as the selected room enlarged on the parchment. "You can direct it by voice alone?" she queried, impressed.  
  
"Mm. Now..." There was that anxiety again. What if it didn't work, what if something went wrong? What if he was still dead in the eyes of the Map? What if... what if...?!  
  
Two dots. Two red dots.  
  
"Hermione Granger..." he read aloud, pointing. "And right there I am... Sirius Black. And it can't be fooled," he hastened to add. "You saw that with Barty Crouch, right? When he was disguised as Mad-Eye? Can't fool it with Polyjuice or any disguise spells. Moony set this irreversible identification spell on it, found it in the N.E.W.T.s textbook."  
  
"You really are him...?"  
  
Her voice was small, eyes wide like a little girl's. He met her gaze with a kind a smile as he could, loosening his grip on the Map. "Do you believe me, Hermione...?" he asked gently, looking down at her as though he'd never seen anything like her.  
  
"Oh, Sirius...!"  
  
He caught her against his chest more by reflex than anything else, letting the Marauders' Map fall to the bed he'd been sitting on. Hermione buried her face in his shoulder, her entire frame shuddering with effort as she gulped back tears. Sirius held her tightly, petting her hair and making soothing noises. The poor thing was shaking like a leaf in the wind.  
  
"Sirius, we've all been so scared..." she whispered into his robes. "Harry... he's been so angry, ever since you... I've never seen him like that. He's been lost, and scared... But he snaps at the smallest things, the strangest things. And then, sometimes, he doesn't react to anything at all..."  
  
"It's all right," he said sympathetically. "Don't worry anymore, Hermione."  
  
She lifted her face with a weak smile, and with a glow in his chest, he brushed the hair back from her cheeks and bestowed a light, paternal kiss to her forehead.  
  
"Oy! Whaddya think y'doing?"  
  
The familiar voice was shaking with absolute fury, an anger he'd never heard there before. It took him a moment to comprehend the source of it all, but as soon as he did, it was difficult to hold back a grin. Ah, the jealous crush.  
  
"H'lo, Ron," he said casually, holding back his mirth.  



End file.
